Empty Promises
by Muffin Is Injured
Summary: She grabbed his jacket in fistfuls and bit his lip as she pulled away, smiling devilishly. Oh, but it felt good to be bad... A young Lorelai clings to Chris, filling her head with his empty promises. Incredibly Random Oneshot strikes back.


_I'm getting pretty speedy with these things, huh?_

_It's Muffin, back with another Incredibly Random One-shot. I'm sorry, I know, but I'm having all these fits of, well, incredibly random inspiration. But hey, I'd prefer a plethora of IRO's over nothing. At least you're getting some. (Why yes, that _is_ dirty!)_

_This one is another younger Lorelai fic, but a pre Rory one- it spans from the ages of 14 to 16. And it deals with the conception of you-know-who… -wink wink, nudge nudge- Oh, but a nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat. So, that does mean it has Lorelai-Chris interaction… but don't worry, I'm not going soft on you or crossing over to the dark side or anything, because I'm still a staunch JavaJunkie and I intend to be that way for ever and ever. "But what about when forever isn't quite forever?" Fran doesn't quite follow._

_It's a wee bit different than my usual work, but apparently the reason for my muse's inconsistency is the fact that he's been in Amsterdam smoking a large variety of substances that I do not approve of._

_I am sad to inform that I have heard speculation about ASP and Dan leaving Gilmore Girls after this season to do some other show. **pOnDeReSqUe** and I cried and screamed and went numb. I don't know how they could do this to us, but apparently, they might. At least they're going out on a great season. –snort- SARCASM! I'm pissed. Google Amy Sherman-Palladino leaving and you'll get one or two sites about it. Cry with me, please._

_Also… where are you people? I only got 15 reviews for my last one shot… 15! That's an all-time low! My second lowest was 23! Miranda is seriously lowering my batting average, as you can see. I miss seeing all your shining faces and reviews when I check my email. I'm depressed and will proceed to write terrible Emo songs and cut my wrists._

_Thanks always go to my perfect beta, **pOnDeReSqUe. **And she didn't ask me to shamelessly endorse her, but I will anyway, because that's how I am- this girl's a frickin' amazing author, much better than I am (I swear!), so check out her fics. No, not a request, an order. Seriously, she's goddess of the laptop._

_And yes, I know Paul Hardcastle's "19" was released in 1985, which is after I referenced it, but I just had to use it. I have this soft spot of the Living in Oblivion CD- I replay "I Eat Cannibals" to a ridiculous extent and can say the intro to "C30 C60 C90 Go" perfectly._

_So, uh, enjoy._

_**Disclaimer**: -snorts- Wait, you're serious?_

**Shouting out shouts…**

**Slapped Beta Bitch:** My microwave has awkward black spots on it too, because of -insert story I wrote to **Alexiamanda** because I am too lazy to rewrite it so you can just go right down to her shoutout if you want to know the story so much, dig?- Amusing, huh? Ah, you're shooting down all the horny pedophiles, one at a time. Fleetwood Mac is Lane's guilty pleasure. My mom has a Fleetwood Mac CD, and it sort of irritates me. I'm listening to all these songs. Yes, Dan, my brother still has his mean dog. YOU'RE a preponderous waste of time. How can you have not had Bagel Bites? Your review is so… sweet and informative. I am surprised. That Bush is getting smarter and smarter… Impending amuses me. France hasn't set fire to our cars, but now what will we eat in space? Oy with the knowing winks already, we get it.

**Izzy Bizzy Fo Fizzy:** How lucky are you? You're higher on my totem pole, because Lassie is off traveling or dead somewhere. Oh, and because I love you. Yes, I am a sly creature. I'm the reason Swiper gets the random objects from Dora. If only he didn't have a rare condition where he is physically unable to steal when told to not swipe three times consecutively… I'm sorry your shout out is short, but I can't do a full on review-type shout out, or I'd get shut down by the Nazis here faster than you could _say_ Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, which, granted, would take a while to get down, but still. That is SO SAD about that old lady! Seriously! I'm pissed off! I didn't see the Family Guy thing, but I heard about it. I like the Foreigners. Hey… where'd you get those pictures? I'm posting a fic, now tell me your news! I'm dying! I am not a patient woman.

**Lassie! Quick! Timmy's in the well again!** Uh… Lassie. Seriously. Where art thou? I named a character after you in here and everything. (Well, it's your full name, the one I never call you). Oh! A chance to use my no-review-shout out! Here goes… I know, I can't believe he would say that. Your dog did that? Freaky! I have one of those things, but it's all blue and it says something in Latin. Ooh, I did that once! The guy was like, "What the deuce is that and why did you put it on my mantle piece?" Good times. No, I don't have Salmonella, although your review finds some good evidence against me. Pop the cap and think of me.

**Alexiamanda**: Woah there, I am a minor, don't you be molesting that sentence while I'm around. Ah, it was one of those _natural_ bullets, huh? Mother Nature's shotgun? Is that 50s thing a real one-shot? Cause if it is, I want the link. That sounds so amusing. O'clock is an awkward word. There's still 30 seconds left… that amuses me. Once I put bread in the microwave for two minutes, and after about 30 seconds I saw all this smoke coming from it, and I debated for about 20 seconds about whether that was normal or I should open it. And the bread was black all the way through, and that amused me, and the house smelled for the rest of the day, and my microwave has permanent black stains.

**Krys33**: You are so dedicated to me, dearie. I thank you. I didn't give my muse lemonade, but I gave it a mojito, so it's all good. Perhaps that's the reason for the incredible randomness of my IRO. I know the Beautiful People girl was Anna the Chilton girl in Gilmore. You should know that I know everything. Is this show overly obsessed with the name Anna or something? Mm, I love Bagel Bites. I, unfortunately, have to live off Tap Ramen, since I have to pack my own lunch and I lack the enthusiasm to soak pork chops in brine and marinate vegetables, so I have it instead. Ah, that Donald Trump.

**FanOfLOST:** You want it… you got it. And a carriage, you want that too? I can do that. And mice! Little mice to construct clothing for you! Who doesn't want rodents as their seamstresses, eh? Once I was at school and using the teacher's microwave when I was in my newspaper meeting, and I unwittingly put something surrounded in tinfoil in the microwave, and it started sparking and being on fire, and I freaked out, and everyone was like, "Didn't you know that you can't put foil in the microwave?" and I was like, "Since when?" and they all laughed at me. You should learn to support your troops more.

**ultimategilmoregirl:** I am with you on that dream episode. I can't believe we have to wait until January 11th for a resolution to the April growth. She's just a growth, growing on the Gilmore Girls and getting bigger and bigger until it affects everyone and everything on it and it needs to be AMPUTATED. Pft. Well, what's fun about things that are on their rocker anyhow?

**Baby Girl Gellar-Green:** You carried a microwave on the plane? That's quite a lot of hand luggage. I love doughy cookies. I can't believe you have a friend named Hanna. I've never met a fellow one-H Hanna. Give her my best wishes.

**waitingtuesday**: I don't know what to do with that leprechaun, honestly. Gotta support the wishes of the Irish, you know. I love Papa, it's adorable and just about the only L-L kids/grandkids fics that I adore.

**Menghis:** Well, who doesn't?

* * *

Empty Promises

* * *

"_The girl with the curls and the sweet pink ribbon in her hair_

_She's crawling out her window 'cause her daddy just don't care."_

_-'Mr. E's Beautiful Blues,' EELS_

* * *

Lorelai Gilmore had never felt particularly loved.

When she was in eighth grade, Lorelai was in her school's fabulous rendition of The Wizard of Oz. Although it was an upper school play, she credited her role as Dorothy to her dazzling blue eyes, infectious charm, and the fact that she had made out with the freshman who was casting.

There were a few more minutes until she had to be ready, and she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She smoothed her blue dress, hemmed six inches above her knee, and gathered Toto into her basket as she strolled onto the stage. "Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em!"

She focused her eyes on Pricilla Preston, whose exponential amounts of cover-up still failed to conceal her numerous warts, and tried not to search the crowd for a heavily-hairsprayed auburn head or strain for the sounds of earsplitting snores. She sang and acted and skipped for the shadowed crowd and won two standing ovations. Her smile was bright but ever-so-slightly forced as she curtsied and hugged her stuttering drama teacher, who was actually weeping with glee, Lorelai noted amusedly.

After the play was over, when she'd received four different bouquets from four different guys, hooked up with the tin man behind the Emerald City, and reapplied her lip gloss, Lorelai gathered her purse and made her way through the dispersing crowd in search of her parents.

"Hey, Lorelai," greeted a skinny blonde girl, sidling up to her. "Looking for Bobby? He's been looking for you." The girl nudged Lorelai knowingly, who scrunched up her nose and tried not to puke at the thought of having anything to do with the acne-infected, fishy-smelling Bobby. _Like, totally gag me with a spoon._

"No," she dismissed, craning her neck and peering over the crowd, putting her high heels to good use. "No, just looking for my ride."

"Oh, you mean your babysitter?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes and quickly turned her head to the eager fly. "I'm almost 14, Joyce. I don't have a babysitter." She forced a strand of curled hair behind her ear and moved through the throng away from Joyce, who continued to trail her eagerly.

"Sorry, I just meant that I know your parents can't do it because they're off at some bogus function. Mine are there too, my brother Gary's taking me home. What a drag, huh?"

Lorelai cleared her throat and stopped in her tracks. "Oh, yeah, of course. Sure. I know they can't." She laughed, shaking her head as if to rid it of any preposterous thoughts. "I'm not stupid. But, uh, my housekeeper is off duty tonight. You think I could catch a ride with you?"

Joyce leapt at the chance to have the most popular girl in the eighth grade in her car and acquiesced immediately. Lorelai got home at half past ten and shoved her new key in the lock- her parents had only just trusted her with one- and stormed into the foyer, dropping her key on to a nearby table and stepping out of her heels as she walked.

"Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, just what do you think you are doing? Pick those keys up right now; how many times I have I told you not to leave your things hanging around?"

Lorelai turned to face her parents, who were exiting the living room area, and clutched her heels in her left hand. "And they live! Contrary to popular belief, might I add."

"What's that supposed to mean?" questioned Emily, nostrils flaring up, body tense, already defensive. She always did the talking during these confrontations, Lorelai internally noted.

Lorelai released a sharp, hissing sigh and turned her head, her hair swinging. "You know, it's not like I really _wanted_ you there in the first place," she said nonchalantly, back square, arms ever crossed. "But it would've been nice if you had told me you weren't coming."

Emily sighed, straightening her black silk shawl over her arms. "Is that what this is about? Lorelai, we had a function we couldn't get out of tonight, and we had it lined up long before you'd even told us about your little play. It would've been rude to not attend the Bishop's Silk Wedding Anniversary."

Lorelai scoffed at her twisted logic. "The Bishop's are Dad's ex-client's cousin's aunt and uncle! I doubt they would've missed you dreadfully. 'Oh, no, my niece's cousin's former insurance agent and his wife didn't attend my 12th Anniversary party! What terrible people!' You know, you're right- how dare I even suggest you skip the anniversary party?" She found it disturbing that, despite her perpetual rebellion against the high society of New England with their stupid stunted half-British accents and incessant mundane gatherings, she still knew how many years a Silk Wedding Anniversary celebrated.

"Lorelai…"

"I mean, there were only, what, 500 or so people there- they would've spotted you missing in a moment. Just think of all the wasted money spent on extra food for you two! Think of all the vegetables that could've stayed inside the ground if it hadn't been for you!" Lorelai shook her head. "Is it just me, or does someone have their priorities out of whack here?"

Richard ran his hand across this face. "Stop being so dramatic."

"And if you knew you couldn't come from the start, why would you even tell me you could?" Despite her attempts to keep her cool, Lorelai's voice was rising with every biting syllable.

"This is absurd," growled Richard. "I'll be in my study if anyone needs me."

"Don't bother," spat Lorelai, pushing herself between her parents and storming to her room, her bare feet light on the carpeted stairs.

* * *

Lorelai Gilmore had never felt particularly wanted.

At the age of sixteen, she sat at her dining room table, her feet propped up on the adjacent chair despite being shooed off four times by her mother, eating a waffle with her hands and listening to her Walkman.

Her father sat in his usual spot, a plate of something meaty, eggy, and all around manly-breakfast-y in front of him. He blindly shoveled his breakfast into his mouth, intently focused on his newspaper.

Lorelai plucked a raspberry from an elaborate dish in the center of the table and popped it in her mouth. "So, Dad, who died today and what stockmarket crashed? Is it Sony? I never trusted those guys, honestly." She didn't wait for his response. She knew she could've said just about anything and whatever piece he was reading would prove more interesting than her words.

She turned down the sounds of Dexy's Midnight Runners and continued. "Dad, I just want you to know- I've decided to join the army. Now, I know this may not be the future you want for me, but just listening to that Paul Hardcastle song has really inspired me."

Richard grunted a lazy "That's nice, dear" and turned the page.

"And I'm becoming a Communist. I think the concept is really underrated, you know? It's dismissed much too quickly. And I know it supposedly only works in theory, but shouldn't we all be able to have a vision of a perfect world to cling to in these hard times, what with the teens going all crazy with their big hair and big fat attitudes? I think Stalin was a much deeper man than people believe him to be- if we'd just dug a little further, we could've seen the true person and the reason behind his… eccentricities, if you will." She lowered her voice to a confiding whisper. "You know, I've heard his father was gay."

Emily whirled in, the very picture of sophistication, and arranged herself on her chair, her napkin fluttering into her lap. "Put those legs down, Lorelai. You know I hate that. I don't know why you insist on disobeying me. And turn the music off at the table. We're a family, and we'll eat breakfast like one."

Lorelai rolled her eyes, slowly removing her legs and yanking her headphones off. "Yet _he_ gets to be antisocial and reading about the Dow Jones Average," she muttered under her breath.

"Eat some of this yoghurt, Lorelai. You're a terribly unhealthy eater, you know. You can't look like that forever if you eat like that. No one can."

Lorelai popped a waffle morsel into her mouth and waggled her eyebrows, licking the syrup off her fingers. "What can I say, I'm a pioneer. It's a hard job, but someone's gotta do it."

Emily spooned some oatmeal onto her plate. "And stop eating with your fingers like that. Homeless people eat with their fingers. Do you want to act like a homeless person?"

Lorelai propped her chin on her hand, deep in thought. "The idea is becoming more welcoming every passing day."

A vicious confrontation most likely containing blood loss was prevented by Richard rustily clearing his throat and lowering his paper with a grand rustle. "Oh, Emily, what are we going to do about that skiing trip with the Rochester's this weekend?"

"I already told them we were going two weeks ago, Richard."

"Yes. but what are we supposed to do with Lorelai?"

Emily furrowed her brow, but quickly unfurrowed it, lest she leave a wrinkle. "I hadn't thought of that."

Lorelai rolled her eyes and put her headphones back on. This happened every time her parents had to go out of town. "Hot potato, hot potato, who's got the hot potato?"

"Perhaps we can send her to the Bovingdon's," suggested Richard.

"No, they're going on the trip also. The Fallington-Price's?"

"No, their son was just incarcerated for growing drugs in the basement. The Baxter's?"

Lorelai piped up. "Their house smells funny, and the dog followed me around the whole weekend with his head buried in my crotch the last time I stayed there."

Emily sighed heavily, almost too heavily. "Perhaps we'll have to cancel, then." Another deep sigh. "What a shame. And I was _so_ looking forward to it." A shake of the head. "_And_ it's the end of the skiing season. We won't get another chance quite like this one for a while."

Lorelai pouted slightly. This was not right. Even if a parent did have to cancel their plans because of a kid, they weren't supposed to make her feel bad about it. "Why can't I just stay here?"

Richard stared at her as if she had just announced she was having a sex change operation and emitted a muffled snort. "Don't be absurd, Lorelai."

"That's preposterous!" Emily let out a stilted laugh.

"Why is it so absurd? I'm sixteen; the maids will be here. And it's only for two nights. I promise not to set anything on fire or rob a bank. I'll save that for when you two get back, so you can supervise it."

Emily and Richard shared a look. Emily looked down at her plate and smushed her oatmeal around with her fork, the kind of little action that reminded Lorelai her mother was a human being and not a robot or Satan. It was sort of hard to keep that perspective most of the time. "We'll think about it."

* * *

Lorelai Gilmore had never felt particularly trusted.

She was fifteen and crawling through her window at a very unreasonable hour after having been at a party at Cassandra Lester's mansion. Her house keys had been taken away two months earlier after she used them to scratch Faye Hamilton's new car when Faye bad-mouthed her at school. (She knew that anything beginning with the words "but she…!" would be uttered in vain and fall on deaf ears, because no matter how awful a thing Faye might've done, including murder or child abuse, her father was above Richard at work and, therefore, they needed to be in the Hamilton's good books. So she kept silent and rolled her eyes until she felt they'd fall out of her skull. Besides, she didn't need them. She'd been using her window since she was twelve. It felt easier that way. Less messy.)

The music had been loud and it seemed to sort of pulse through the room and the bar and the overturned chip bowls, vibrating throughout Lorelai's body. She was drinking something that Chris had given her- not spiked, he promised, he'd watched the guy fill it himself- and dancing with him, throwing back her head and tossing her hair as she ground against him.

"Having fun?" he'd asked her, yelling into her ear just loud enough, his hands creeping under the back of her deliciously small skirt.

She had laughed, handed her drink to someone passing her, and landed her mouth on his, opening it instantly. Sloppy tongues and teeth clashed as their bodies thumped to the music, skin flushed hot against skin. She grabbed his jacket in fistfuls and bit his lip as she pulled away, smiling devilishly. Oh, but it felt good to be bad.

The window squeaked as she closed it, and she winced, making a mental note to… well, nothing, because like hell she was going to be fixing it. She tossed her jacket onto the chair and padded softly into her bathroom, closing the door. She was just working on removing the eyeliner from her left eye when footfalls landed outside and her mother's voice sounded. "Lorelai? Are you up?"

Lorelai froze, hands clutching the ridiculous pink marble counter.

"Lorelai, I thought I heard you up. Are you in the bathroom? It's very early. I told you not to drink so much water at dinner tonight."

Lorelai found her voice and called back, "Yeah, Mom, I'm in the bathroom. Go back to bed."

"I thought I heard the window. Why would you be opening the window at 2:30 on a Thursday morning?"

"Well, gee, Mom, I don't know, I just saw something on the Discovery Channel about how the air is the purest at 2:30 in the morning on Thursdays and I thought I'd see for myself…"

"Lorelai, don't play games with me. I'm much too tired for your nonsense."

Lorelai sighed and sat down on the toilet seat, the ceramic chilling her thighs. Her friend had given her a fuzzy neon green cover for it for her birthday, knowing it would piss her mother off, and Emily had forbade her to use it and threatened her with decreased allowance. _Garish thing, _she had muttered. _It would be more at home on some street performer or insane asylum patient. _"There was a spider on the floor, so I put it out the window," Lorelai replied with practiced patience. She toyed absentmindedly with her imported Egyptian towels and pulled a few threads out, just to really make her mother mad.

"A spider? That's revolting. The maid must be insane. She goes first thing tomorrow."

Lorelai groaned and leaned her head back against the shower door. "Absolutely. Kick her out onto the streets, no severance check necessary. How dare she put us into any contact with nature?"

There was silence in the adjacent room, save the sound of Emily's nightgown rustling. "Yes. Very well then." She cleared her throat. "I'm going to go back to bed, it is very early."

"Excellent idea, I plan to do the same thing myself," responded Lorelai as she heard the muffled click of her bedroom door through the wall. She sighed deeply, removed the rest of her make-up, put on her pajamas, and slipped into bed. Snuggling down into the sheets, fresh-faced and sleepy, darkness slanting on the dollhouse in the corner, she was completely innocent.

* * *

She swung her legs, perching on her balcony wall, and smiled at Christopher, taking a sip of swiped tequila and passing him the bottle.

"I can't believe your parents actually let you stay here by yourself," he laughed, leaning against her wall and fiddling with the cap in his fingers. Chris was always laughing, Lorelai thought- a welcome change from her parents, where every moment with them was like being quarantined.

She shrugged. "I can't really believe it myself. But I think it's only because, when they called on the Baxter's, Snuffy attached himself to my mother's crotch all throughout tea. You'd think that'd make them eager to have me spend a weekend in that hell hole, but for some reason, I'm here all alone."

"Except for the maids," he reminded, swigging the near empty drink and handing it back.

"Yes, but the newest one is so clueless that I don't think she even knows the Gilmore's have a daughter."

"And except for me."

Lorelai's smile widened into a naughty grin. "Very true."

He leaned over and met her mouth halfway, sliding her off the edge just in case (she had only fell once while they were kissing, and he'd caught her anyway). Backing her up against the barrier, he let his hands trail down her sides as he sucked on her neck.

Lorelai's delighted giggles segued into breathy gasps. "Christopher," she breathed into his hair, and he returned to her mouth. They stood there kissing, and it felt so sweet, so good, the taste of forbidden fruits and delicious rebellion. Chris' hands danced along her shirt's edge, brushing her skin, and Lorelai's head almost burst with the victory of it all._ Emily and Richard, if you could only see me now._

Lorelai leaned back and let him pull her shirt off, trying not to shy away under his adoring gaze and the night's slight chill. And the haze of smugness and alcohol shifted a little, and she thought that maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"Chris…" she mumbled, hands making their way down his chest even as she spoke. "Maybe-"

"Lorelai," he muttered, hands caressing her arms gently, "I love you." He nuzzled her neck and did something intriguing with his tongue. "I want you."

Lorelai closed her eyes and reveled in the sounds of those words coming from someone, anyone. She ran her tongue across his collarbone, her blood flowing rapidly. "What if-" Her breath pitched and caught awkwardly.

"I trust you," he said, cutting her off hurriedly, leaning his head to drop kisses on her shoulder as he attempted to unhook her bra. She nodded, placed a hand to his cheek and kissed him. She'd worry about the particulars later.

Slowly, awkwardly, he lowered her to the ground, the bottle of Jose Cuervo forgotten in the sounds of pants and moans and empty promises, gradually spilling its remaining drops on the cement floor in a particularly messy fashion.

* * *

Tee hee!

Now it's your turn.


End file.
